Wordle #61 “Sonder”

Week 61

When did you drop from your perch?

And from what sinister heights

That I should come upon you

Bespoke for love,

Parts everywhere and sharp enough

To stitch into my woolen hide?

Spindly limbs choke the air,

More weaver than painter,

More executioner than poet.

What was your first encounter

With freedom and under which

Pseudonym did she court you?

Do your glib songs sound wooden

Without the reverberations of gangways

To disperse their ambling echoes?

Even morass invokes an audience

The shrinkage of a heart only

Fourteen centimeters to start instates

Its own curious following.

How good women crave persecution,

A tyrant that ravishes his calling.

A sonder falls upon

My neck like an umbilicus.

Cement slabs sprout upward

As if searching for the sun

Yes even the dead had lives

More prevalent and less dismissive

Than my own. One day my shell

Will fall away and I’ll worm

My way deep into the feculent folds

Of my only living mother.

I am a womb full of bleeding gums

And mesh-draped particulars.

I swallow only the splinters

Never the hatchet itself.

I will not rest until I’ve seen

The face behind the mask,

The child whose suffering

Has not yet been extinguished

And can never be extinguished

So long as his heart is a forge.

For

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/05/18/wordle-61-may-18-2015%E2%80%B3/

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26 responses to “Wordle #61 “Sonder”

  1. excellent use of the wordle Yves, though the ‘feculent folds’ was a strong image in relation to a mother though I do get the meaning I found a particularly confronting…..which is always a good thing to confront your readers and get them to sit up and take notice….

  2. And thusly I think your verse is the earth itself speaking.
    At least that is part of the vision I got when ‘cement slabs’ (as in my interpretation of sky scrapers) ‘sprout up as if searching for the sun’.

    Son must have overslept. Glad you enjoyed the newest ‘Sheila’
    edition 🙂

  3. You are so consistently and wickedly talented, Yves, and this is no exception. So many spell-binding lines, like, “What was your first encounter/With freedom and under which/Pseudonym did she court you?” Wow!!

  4. There a vicious vividity to the last stanza, but also a strength to your voice as well. A belief or hope that in the end it will all come out in the wash.

    The thing about perches and pedestals. They both seem so easy to fall from.

  5. So many powerful words – rushing headlong into a passionate, almost matter of fact statement of truth- laid naked – bare – wounds hidden but spoken in a language visceral – as created by the phrases you weave, seemingly, perhaps so, effortlessly.

    How good women crave persecution, / A tyrant that ravishes his calling.

    Yes even the dead had lives / More prevalent and less dismissive Than my own. One day my shell / Will fall away and I’ll worm / My way deep into the feculent folds / Of my only living mother.

    If this isn’t power in image and language, then I don’t know what is. Great job Yves 😀

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